


The Gift

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape, Bedsharing, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jon is a bit OOC because of being brought up as a wildling, North of the Wall, The dragon ships JonSa HARD, Wildling Jon, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: When Sansa is snatched by a dragon and delivered to a strange man she needs to hatch a plan to return home.Another fic that I'm separating from my ficlet collection - intending to make it a few chapters long.





	1. Chapter 1

_You absolute coward!_ Was all Sansa could think when she glimpsed the hastily retreating blonde form of Prince Joffrey Baratheon as he fled the clearing they had been having their secret picnic in. That probably wasn't the aspect of the unfolding events that she should be focusing on right now though, considering she was facing a fire breathing dragon.

It had all been going so incredibly well. The Prince had suggested she skip her normal embroidery lesson, feigning a headache, and meet him by the stables where he had two mares saddled and ready.

They had reached the clearing by midday and he began to regale her about the splendour and curiosities of the Red Keep. Sansa was enthralled by the tales and his promises to show her all the delights of the capital as they ate strawberries and drank summer wine.

The first shadow had spooked the horses. They fled to the trees lining the clearing and quickly disappeared before Joffrey or Sansa had a chance to try to recall or chase after them, the shadow passed over them again, large, ominous and blocking out the optimism of the sun momentarily. Sansa used her hand to shade her eyes and searched the sky for the shadow-maker. That's when they heard it - a terrible shriek that pierced the skies spurring them both to get to their feet as the great scaled beast landed surprisingly gracefully before them, shaking the ground enough to make Sansa's legs feel unsteady.

_Gods! A dragon! It can't be!?_

The boy Prince yelped and held both Sansa's elbows from behind, angling her between him and the huge muddy green animal.

The dragon shot a massive glowing flame into the air causing Joffrey to turn heel and run - moving as fast as his royal feet would carry him leaving Sansa to fend for herself.

 _You had a sword!_ She thought. _You'd been telling me about it at great length just five minutes ago and there it goes still sheathed in your scabbard bouncing at your hip! You could have distracted the animal at the very least!_

All her vexation would do her no good now as she stood frozen to the spot eying the great beast as it eyed her right back. The dragon stepped forwards and sniffed the air around her. Some of her loose hair got caught in its inhale and reached upwards towards the beasts nostrils. Sansa wondered if it was judging whether or not she'd make a tasty meal. It snorted hot breath that smelt like sulphur.

Sansa knew it would do her no good to try and flee - two flaps of the beasts great wings and it would head off any of her escape routes. Nor could she fight it - what with?

Somewhere in the back of her fear addled mind she remembered enchanted tales of fair maidens taming dragons with their charms and beauty. By chances go, it was a long reach, but the only chance she had.

"Hello" she said weakly. The dragon lowered its head to her and nudged her belly with its hot snout. She tentatively moved her shaking hand to reach out and touch it's scales - they were smooth and warm. It made a happy rumbling noise from somewhere deep within its chest and nudged her belly again, this time with more force, knocking Sansa to the ground on her rear with a painful thud.

The dragon pointed its head skyward and let out another breath of flame before it lifted one of its great clawed feet and curled it surprisingly gently around Sansa's waist.

Before she knew it she was looking down at the picnic clearing from high above, the trees around it that had previously provided a shady canopy now gradually getting smaller and smaller below her as the great beast beat its huge leathery wings.

Sansa felt as though there was too much air around her and yet not enough in her lungs. She gasped and struggled as they soared higher and higher, passing Wintertown and Winterfell, the small folk looking as if they were living up to their name. Finally Sansa found her voice and let loose a scream, the dragon shrieked in return as if it thought they were singing some terrible duet.

From what Sansa could make out of the landscape and the odd keep they passed over, the dragon was taking her North, so North that they eventually soared over The Wall itself! The giant icy structure glittered in the midday sun. Sansa would have thought its beauty some kind of magic if she weren't currently in such a dire situation.

 _No one will come searching for me beyond The Wall_ , she thought.

_Perhaps it is taking me back to its lair to feed to its young?_

They rose higher and higher, the air getting thinner and thinner, Sansa soon felt ill and cotton-headed. Everything went black for a time and Sansa felt numb. That is, until her eyes began to open, tears rolling down her cheeks as the wind whipped past her face and everything came back into focus. They were descending. Fast. Spiralling and looping, her hair moving as if it was its own beast.

 _Oh Gods! Please don't throw up! Please don't throw up!_ She chanted to herself.

Once again the dragon landed with surprising grace considering its size. The ground was covered in snow this far north of The Wall, the beasts landing sending a small outwards spray of it around them.

It dropped her rather unceremoniously into the cold white powder making her gasp from the iciness - she was not dressed for anything this cold having just been in a sunny green glen just minutes ago.

Sansa stood hastily and faced the beast. They were near the edge of a forest but once again Sansa knew she would not make it to the treeline in time - especially now her skirts were soggy and laden down with snow. So she stood her ground - if she is to die today then she'll die as a Stark, staring down death and daring it to take her.

"What have you brought for me this time friend"? Came a voice through the clearing. For a crazy moment Sansa thought it had been the beast to speak but quickly whirled around to see a small hut and a man emerging from it.

 _Wildling_!

The man was dressed in all manner of furs, his head topped with a wild mop of inky black curls. He stood still in the doorway of his hut with a look of astonishment on his face - only he didn't seem to be surprised at the presence of a dragon at his home but rather that there was another person there as he stared wide eyed at Sansa. The animal shrieked excitedly into the sky behind her making her jump in her skin.

The man walked slowly out towards her like he was stalking some animal it did not want to spook. Why it occurred to Sansa that it was her he was worried about startling and not the massive fire breathing dragon she does not know.

He stopped a few footsteps away and gawked at her.

 _At me. Not at the flying fire breathing monster behind me_.

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips to begin to ask a question but his query never voiced itself as just then the dragon began nudging Sansa in the back, pushing her towards the wildling whilst grunting and rumbling.

Sansa stumbled on the dragons final push, causing her to reach out and steady herself, stop herself from falling completely. The man caught her, saving Sansa from meeting the snowy ground. They both gaped at each other as she straightened in his arms. His eyes were a familiar grey colour.

Instantly Sansa made the decision - Wildlings were dangerous, but not as dangerous as the monster that brought her here, so she moved to stand behind him, using him much like Joffrey had used her - as a human shield between her and the beast.

The man stared her up and down for a little while before turning back to the dragon. It was close now, so close that the man need not move his feet to reach out and touch it - which he did.

"What on earth have you done girl"? He asked as he gently stroked the dragons cheek. The huge animal purred under the man's attentions.

"I....I didn't do anything! We were just having a pic-" she stumbled and stuttered.

"I wasn't talking to you" the man rasped, not looking round at her. Sansa stayed silent and contemplated making a run for it.

 _If I can make it to the forest, I might be able to loose the dragon and wildling and...and...freeze to death among the trees._ She thought miserably.

Her teeth began to rattle together of their own volition.

"She normally brings me food or firewood" the man continued, still not turning to face Sansa. "Mother said I was lucky... that the dragon would always bring me things I need, things that would make me happy". He turned to look at Sansa "it's never bought me a person before".

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry - no smut in this chapter...

Sansa paused before following the wildling back into his hut as he had offered. She looked back over her shoulder at the great scaled dragon that was now curled around itself in steady slumber like a cat in front of a fireplace, the snow had melted around the beast for a good three feet.

Tentatively making her way to the man's threshold she peered in. It was very primitive, as she had expected - the walls were made of wattle and daub, the roof some kind of thatch. The hut only had one room, in the middle there was a pit of fire, over in one corner was a large pile of furs and pelts, in another there was a tethered goat.

"She bought me that about half a moon ago" the man gestured with a nod towards the animal in the corner as he sat on a log in front of the fire. Sansa said nothing and just stared, glancing once again over her shoulder at the sleeping dragon.

"Aren't you cold"? The man asked. Sansa nodded with downcast eyes, she wasn't just cold, she was positively frozen what with her lack of appropriate clothing and sodden skirts. "Come, sit" he said slapping the small space left on the log beside him.

Sansa hesitated, everything she had been told about wildlings taught her that getting close to this man would be a dangerous move but the painful chill wracking her shivering body screamed at her to take the comfort of the flame. She moved quickly to the seat and tried to position herself right on the edge, giving her some space and hopefully distance enough to bolt out of the door should he try anything.

"Thank you" she mumbled as she rubbed her outstretched numb hands together close to the fire's warmth.

The wildling watched her intently and without shame for a while. Sansa wasn't sure if the redness of her cheeks was from the fire's warmth or the heat from his close inspection. Without warning, he reached over and curiously fingered the fabric of her skirt, rubbing it between forefinger and thumb and tracing the embroidery with fascination whilst Sansa held her breath. Quite suddenly, he rose from his seat making Sansa jump. He picked up a fur from what she assumed was his sleeping area and promptly wrapped it around her shoulders as he stood behind her. Sansa froze rigid. She felt him take a gentle hold of her braid and untuck it from beneath the fur.

"Pretty" he says. Sansa's not sure if he's talking to her or himself but she's fairly convinced that she can feel him playing with the ends of her hair. She tugs his gifted fur tighter around herself as if it were armour against anything that could harm her - wildlings included.

Sansa tries to ignore him as he continues to stand over her, playing with her braid, making her shiver - or is that the cold? Can she come up with a plan to get out of here and back home? She busies herself once again with her arms outstretched over the fire, diligently trying to ignore the strange wildling.

"Are you hungry"? He asks from behind her. Sansa doesn't answer so the man sits back down on the bench - too close - she shuffles away from him a little. "I don't have much to offer I'm afraid, only milk and some rabbit I got on this morning's hunt". He looks expectedly at Sansa and finally her courtesies win out.

"No...thank you" she says with a shake of her head and a small smile. He's still staring and she wishes he wouldn't. Sansa clears her throat "the dragon - he's your pet"?

The wildling smiles triumphantly as if coaxing her to speak is some kind of victory. "She's a girl....and no, she's not my pet...I do have a wolf though" he finishes with a proud grin. Sansa glances round at the decidedly wolf-less hut "he's out hunting" the wildling supplies as if sensing her query.

"Oh" Sansa says, her hands and arms are thoroughly warmed now so she encases them back within the fur, pulling it tight around her body, it smells woodsy and comforting.

"The dragon started to bring me things about three years ago... I never know when she's going to turn up or what she'll bring.... but she seems to always bring me something I am in need of" he licks his full lips and his eyes quickly flash up and down her frame. Something low in Sansa's belly squirms and wriggles.

"And you're in need of a girl are you"? Sansa says curtly with a sniff before wincing when she hears how her question sounded - she'd not meant it like that, like she was there to service his 'needs'. Sansa shifts her gaze from the flames to the wildling, his mouth twitched in amusement. He was quite comely to look upon really, even with his scarred brow, riot of inky curls and a smudge of dirt on his cheek that Sansa itched to clean.

"Aye, perhaps" he smiled warmly "perhaps she thought me lonely".

"You live here alone"? Sansa asked, making a show of appraising this man's hut. Maybe I can befriend him, maybe he'll help me get to the Wall, to Castle Black. Father would send for me from there.

"Aye....We stayed with a camp for a while, my Mother and I, but she grew tired of the attempted stealings and we decided to move out here....she's been gone near a year now and I....well, I just...stayed" the man's voice was laced with sadness that weighed heavily on his features even as he continued to stare at Sansa, the light from the fire flickering in his eyes.

"How?...your mother..."? Sansa's voice drifted off into the smoke from the fire.

"A fever" he answered quickly as he prodded the flames with a stick.

"I'm sorry" her eyes drifted to the floor before she remembered what he'd said. "What do you mean... that your mother grew tired of the...stealings"?

The man barked out a short laugh, ducked his head and crooked a finger at Sansa, beckoning her to lean in closer, as if he were 'bout to divulge something secretive. Sansa complied, only realising how close they now were when she found she could clearly see flecks of violet in his grey eyes. "When we want to take a wife, we steal one" he whispered with a grin.

"That's barbaric"! Sansa exclaimed, sitting up straight.

"I think it better than you southerners who give your daughters away for titles and castles".

Sansa's cheeks flamed with irritation "I am no southerner! I am of the North"!

The man shrugged "you're from south of the Wall - that makes you a southerner by my reckoning" he concluded, rubbing the scruff of his beard in thought. "Do your women have a choice"?

"What"?

"When they take a husband - do they have a choice"?

_No - not at all._

"Not...not really" Sansa replied, huddling the fur up to her neck.

"Well there you are - Free women can choose their man...they can fight off an unwanted stealing...or steal a man for themselves...exchanging your daughter as if she were chattel - now that's barbaric" he cocked a brow.

Sansa wrinkled her nose and gazed at the fire in thought. "You didn't think to steal yourself a woman to keep from being lonely"? She asks, genuinely curious.

"Never seen one worth stealing at the camp" he shrugged "besides, I value my balls too much" he chuckles and then gives in to a full hearty bark of laughter when he sees Sansa's shocked reaction to his words. "You know" he starts, taking out a small knife from somewhere in his furs. Sansa's eyes widen at the blade but all he does is start whittling away at a stick. "I've witnessed men loose teeth when they dared steal the wrong woman... fuck! One man lost his eye"!

Sansa furrowed her brow in contemplation as she watched the man continue to work the wood to a sharp point.

"The way I see it, if I'm going to risk that kind of injury, then the woman better be worth it". The wildling glanced up from his handiwork with a grin.

"So you've avoided injury by getting your dragon to steal one for you"?

The man snorted "No... you're not stolen....you're not mine" he flicked his eyes over her again. It made Sansa shiver.

"Good.....I need....I need your help" Sansa straightened her spine "I need to get back home".

The man stared at her for a while before gesturing to her with his short blade "you want me to trek with you down South"?!

"To Castle Black, yes" Sansa nods.

"You've lost your mind woman"!

"They wouldn't touch you! The men of The Night's Watch... not once I explain that you're returning me to my Father, to Lord Stark" the man's head jerks up at the mention of Sansa's Lord father but she does not notice, too busy with her desperate pleading. "I'll tell them that you've protected me and kept me from harm...that you're helping me"!

The wildling goes back to his whittling and all is quiet for a time, the only sound being the crackle and pop of the fire and the scrape scrape of his knife.

Sansa began to let the sinking feeling wash over her before he finally grunted and levelled those grey eyes with hers again.

"What's in it for me"?

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheeky Jon....

Sansa had brokered a deal with the Wildling - or 'Jon', as he informed her. She thought on how 'ordinary' and 'un-Wildling-like' his name sounded. Sansa wasn't sure if she was disappointed or comforted by that.

Jon had refused to leave his home until his wolf, Ghost, returned from his hunting trip, assuring her that he was never gone longer than a few days. Try as she may, she couldn't persuade him otherwise. So the wait began.

In exchange for seeing her safely back home, Jon wanted the opportunity to live at Winterfell. Sansa supposed Jon's reasoning behind his desire to relocate south of the Wall was because it was safer and most definitely warmer. He nodded his head numbly whilst staring into the flames before them when she asked him if this was so.

 _I can't blame him,_ she thought as she tugged her borrowed furs tighter around her shivering body.

Truth was, Sansa wasn't in a position to offer a place at Winterfell to him, but she was sure that with some pretty pleading, her Lord Father would consider letting the man who returned her home, safe and unscathed stay - even if he is a Wildling.

Sansa gradually began to feel more at ease with Jon after their deal had been made, she'd had something meagre to eat and they continued to talk sat by the fire.

Jon was full of questions about Winterfell and life south of the Wall. He asked Sansa to describe the castle, who lived there and what they did. He wanted to know about customs, traditions and practices. He listened intently to her like no man had ever done before. He never talked over her or seemed to be pretending that what she said was interesting (unless he was particularly good at pretending, but Sansa suspected not). Sansa wondered if his attentiveness was born out of the novelty of her presence after being alone for so long. He even seemed enraptured when she talked of her embroidery circle with her Septa or her dancing lessons with her Mother.

"Would you teach me"? He asks suddenly standing from the log at the fire. Sansa looks at him as if he'd just sprouted an extra head.

"Why"?

Jon shrugged and grabbed her hand, all but hauling her from her seated position. She felt like yanking her hand back violently but, for some reason it stayed within his own large warm one. "Because I'd like to learn... you'd be an excellent teacher, I reckon". Sansa blushed at the compliment. Jon grinned down at her.

"Well, I couldn't show you a whole routine" she said, looking about the small hut, "there's not enough room...but perhaps a few positions and moves".

"Positions"? He raised one brow, his lips still wearing that grin.

"Yes, posi-.....why are you looking at me like that"?

"Like what"? He shrugged. Sansa caught a mischievous glint in his eye and watched him suspiciously whilst crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't know...like that"! She gestured to him with an open upturned palm. "...Just stop it! Else I won't teach you a thing"!

"Alright" he replied, trying and failing at suppressing his amusement.

Sansa shook her head and tried showing him some steps - a few different turns and a couple of bits of footwork. He wasn't terrible, but he wasn't a natural either. Sansa ended by showing Jon how to properly hold a lady whilst dancing, with one hand splayed across the small of her back and the other holding hers aloft. It was strange that his hold on her was so comforting and yet unsettling at the same time. Sansa felt like she was in danger of melting away like the snow outside.

"I like this position" Jon whispered, after a few small turns about his hut. They halted, but Jon did not relinquish his hold on her, he pulled Sansa a fraction too close and squeezed her hand a little. His eyes bore into hers and it was as if neither of them had blinked for far too long.

Sansa suddenly realised how dark it had become, the flickering light of Jon's fire throwing their shadows dancing across a wall. She was also suddenly aware of how close Jon was to her, she could feel his breath on her skin as she watched his chest rise and fall. More than that though, she caught his masculine scent and wondered in horror as to why she felt a tingling reaction to it between her legs. "Where will I be sleeping tonight"? Sansa blurted.

Jon said nothing. He gestured with a jerk of his head to the pile of furs without once breaking eye contact with her.

"And where will you be sleeping"? Sansa asked nervously, after clearing her throat.

"Where would you like me to sleep"? He breathed, staring intently at her lips.

"Not..." she shook her head, her eyes were drawn to Jon's mouth as he seemed to be leaning down, pulling her closer. "Not with me" she said with a small gasp as she quickly escaped his arms and took a hasty few steps backwards, almost stumbling into the fire.

Jon looked amused as he let out a snort and shook his head. "It's getting late" he said whilst glancing at the pile of furs and then back to Sansa before striding towards the doorway.

"Where are you going"?

"For a piss" Jon calls behind him.

Sansa stilled, gaping after his disappearing form for a while before urging life to return to her limbs with a shake of her head. Moving to the pile of furs, she bundled and heaved a few to a separate location, closer to the doorway. Glancing at the original pile, she reached behind herself to attempt to undo her lacings. Although Sansa's dress was not one of heavy winter wool, it would be highly uncomfortable to sleep in, what with the corset boning and still damp hem and all. She huffed as her arms continued to contort and twist at her back, her fingers untying the holding knot and bow but unable to loosen the laces as they criss-crossed from eyelet to eyelet up either side of Sansa's spine.

"Can I help"? Came Jon's voice from the doorway.

Sansa yelped and turned swiftly to face him, she had hoped to be rid of the dress and already tucked safely under the furs by the time he returned. Sansa stared at Jon, a little wide eyed.

"You can't reach" he gestured with a quick wave of his hand as he removed his gloves. Sansa continued to watch him as he moved forward slowly, like a prowling animal.

"That wouldn't be proper" Sansa squeaked.

"Well how do you normally get out of all those fancy skirts and fine clothes"?

"My handmaiden, Millie helps me".

"Well then....think of me as Millie" he smiled softly and turned her around slowly by her shoulders. Sansa stifled a giggle at the thought of Jon scurrying about her chambers, changing her sheets, braiding her hair and emptying her chamberpot.

She stiffened and held her breath however, when she felt the tug and pull behind her, the fine silk cord laces rasping out a long brushing sound as they slid from the eyelets. She was suddenly reminded of the other things Millie does for her - helping her out of all her skirts, shift and stockings, massages oils into her scalp and hair and rubs her shoulders while she relaxes in the steaming waters of her bath. Sansa feels a shiver ripple down her spine at the thought of Jon's hands soothing slick oil into her bare skin.

She felt the dress loosen and Jon's warm hands push down her sleeves, the bodice of the dress falls and collects at her waist. Sansa wants to tell him to stop, that she can do the rest to rid herself of the garment but the words get stuck in her throat along with her breath. With Jon's own breath ghosting over her neck, she can feel how close he is to her back as he reaches round her front, his thumbs hooking into her dress and shimmying it down over hips and arse before it puddles at the floor.

Sansa hugs her body - affected not only from the cold but from the grey eyes she knows are skimming over her.

"This one is wet too" he says softly as she feels Jon work at the ties of her cotton underskirt before it joins her dress on the floor.

Sansa gasps as she suddenly realises she is left only in her knee length shift, stockings and silk smallclothes. She could swear that she hears Jon suck in a short sharp breath as well.

He walks slowly to be in front of her, making no effort to hide the fact that he's looking his fill of her. Perhaps she shouldn't trust this man to deliver her back home? He has a hint of a feral look in his eyes as they touch on all of her.

She's about to make a dash for the furs when Jon drops to his knees.

"Pretty" he comments, taking the hem of her shift between his thumb and forefinger, examining the embroidered blue winter roses Sansa had painstakingly stitched a few moons back.

"...umm...th-thank you" she stammered as Jon kept ahold of her shift.

"Even your underthings are fine and beautiful" he says, looking up at her through thick dark lashes.

"I...I like to decorate all of my clothes".

"All of them"? Jon asks in a low voice, not looking away from Sansa's face as she feels him push the hem of her shift up deliberately slowly, exposing the tops of her white silk stockings that she knows have sky blue satin ribbons with little white daisies embroidered along them.

Sansa's breath quickens as she feels the chill of the night air on the skin of her thighs being chased away by Jon's hot swirling breath as he drops his gaze to inspect her work. His fingers skim along the seam of her right stocking, every now and again brushing her skin that began to prick with goose flesh. Her cheeks feel flushed with heat.

"This is fine work...you are very skilled, princess" he breaths as his fingers begin to curl around the back of Sansa's thigh, his hot palm chasing the chill from the night air away.

Sansa feels like she's forgotten how to speak as she looks down at the Wildling man knelt before her, enraptured by her underthings, her leg in his grasp. Somehow, her voice cracks out some words.

"I'm...I'm not a princess".

"Surely only a princess would be this beautiful? Have such fine clothes"? He looks up at her and then that expression he wore when she was teaching him the proper way to hold a lady in dance returns to his face.

"You make pretty all of your clothes you say"?

Sansa nods. Jon licks his lips and grins before starting to slowly raise her shift even higher up her body with a raised brow in question.

Sansa yelps and jumps away as soon as she realises what he's about, before darting under the furs as quickly as humanly possible. She tucks herself in tightly and turns her back on him, squeaking out a sharp "goodnight".

Sansa hears Jon's deep quiet chuckle behind her. "Goodnight, princess".


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep came easily but did not want to stay. Sansa supposed that the day's events are what had tired her so completely that she was able to succumb to her dreams so quickly. She dreamt of yellow eyes peering at her through the dark and awoke abruptly in a sweat and panting.

Her fear quickly subsided once the realisation that she had indeed been dreaming had settled her nerves. Only for them to pique again when a snore and a sleepy grumble tore through the silence beside her.

_The Wildling. Jon. North of the Wall. The dragon._

Memories of the past day painted pictures in her foggy head. The fire in the pit had died down to crackling embers, but there was just enough light to make out the sleeping form beside her.

Jon had evidently re-positioned the pile of furs Sansa had previously separated for his use, as she did not remember placing them so close. She watched him sleep for a while, jumping near out of her skin when he suddenly turned over to face her and mumbled something in a sleepy tongue.

Sansa smoothed her hands over her hair before laying her head back down. She wonders if Jon will have a brush for her locks in the morning. Turning on her side to face him, Sansa studies his own riot of curls and thinks she may not be so lucky.

"Pretty" he mumbles sleepily, making Sansa suppress a giggle. Jon's eyes are moving back and forth rapidly under his closed eyelids. She wonders what he's dreaming of. Her cheeks flush after she remembers the way he had looked at her during the evening - when she had taught him some dance steps and also when he'd helped her to undress.

Sansa glances around the hut to see that Jon had draped her dress and underskirt over his log seat, so that they could dry close to the fire. It was a simple gesture, but it made her smile that a man would think to do that.

 _Maybe you are more like Millie than I thought_ , she mused with a private smirk.

The remainder of the night is taken up with drifting in and out of sleep, but no more dreams haunted her. It was hard for Sansa to settle in a strange place, not to mention with someone else sleeping so close to her - she hadn't experienced that in the past two years. Once she had become a woman and bled for the first time at one and four, she had stopped climbing into Robb's bed at night during a storm. She was a woman grown after all.

"Do princesses always sleep so much"? Came a voice through the blackness of slumber.

Sansa blinked her eyes open rapidly, only to startle at the proximity of grey eyes studying her once her own vision cleared. Jon was leaning over onto her pile of furs, half his body still under his own covers where they butted up against hers. Sansa was not only startled by his closeness but by the expanse of bare skin of his shoulders and exposed chest.

"I....I'm not a princess" she squeaks, voice scratchy from sleep.

"Aye...you said that" Jon chuckles, briefly glancing down to Sansa's mouth before she tugs the furs up to her nose. Her eyes dart about the naked skin of his shoulders making him raise one brow in amusement before leaning back and letting the furs fall down to his hips, purposefully letting Sansa map out his torso with her gaze. He only speaks once her eyes drop to the trail of dark hair travelling down from his navel to disappear under the furs. "Getting a good look"? He teases.

Sansa flushes and abruptly turns to face the wall in embarrassment after catching the playfulness in his face and mumbling a quick "no"!

"Well" Jon says from behind her, Sansa can hear him shuffling around and she assumes that he's getting dressed "I've got a bit of huntin' to do today and perhaps some gatherin' too. If we're to get to travellin' soon, we'll need all the provisions we can get". There's a pause where Sansa can feel his eyes on her. "Are you gonna help or stay in bed lookin' pretty"?

"I can't hunt" she says, turning back over to face Jon and see that, yes, he had put his layers of clothing back on. He furrows his brow at her response.

"Gatherin' then? There's acorns and rosehips to be found not far from here, maybe some burdock and chickweed if we're lucky" he says, jutting out his jaw as he's tying the last of his heavy furs about his middle.

"Yes, I....I could do that" Sansa responds, recalling embroidering some rosehips as part of a harvest design on a handkerchief once.

"You don't sound too convincin'....if you feed me nightshade by mistake I'll not be around to take you anywhere Princess".

Sansa felt the sudden build of hot irritation. She huffed and whipped her coverings off in annoyance, exposing her shift and stockings. She ignored the feel of Jon's eyes on her body. "I know what nightshade looks like Jon, I'm not stupid" she rose and stomped over to where her underskirt and dress were laid out and thankfully now dry. Hastily and roughly pulling her underskirt on, Sansa's hands began to fumble at her back with the ties until she felt a larger, warm hand steady them.

"I know you're not stupid Sansa" Jon said in a low, calm voice that heated something in her belly. "I should have said that I can show you what's good to pick and gather....if you like"? He kept her hands under his until she slipped them out from under it and turned her head to nod, feeling the previous annoyance wash away with timbre of his voice.

"I would like that".

_I must be useful._

Jon fastened the ties of Sansa's underskirt and without being asked, pulled the lacings of her dress and secured them for her. They were mostly silent while he worked at helping her with the items of clothing, only during the odd moment of his fingertips brushing her bare skin did Sansa feel like her own breathing was amplified to louder than she had ever heard it. Once he was done, Jon spun her around by her shoulders and looked her up and down.

"You need warmer clothing" he said almost to himself. "And maybe some breeches instead if these skirts".

Sansa stared at him with a horrified look. Once he'd stopped his eyes from roaming her body, Jon barked out a laugh after noticing the expression on her face.

"Don't worry, you'll still look pretty!....and, you know....not dead from frostbite".

"I'm not concerned with looking pretty"! She snapped, that earlier irritation back and scraping at her gut.

"Aye, that why you spent hours on those little daisies decorating your pretty legs then"?

"That-....I-.....Urgh"! Sansa felt like petulantly stomping her foot....or throwing something at Jon's head. 

"I really don't know why you bothered though, no one sees your fine handiwork under all those skirts anyway" he said, ignoring her previous outburst.

"They're for my future husband's eyes only" she responded with a sniff.

"And mine".

"What"?

"Well, I've seem 'em now haven't I"? He grinned cheekily "What _else_ is for your husband's eyes only"?

Sansa felt her cheeks flush pink. She opened her mouth to speak a few times but ended up looking like a gasping fish before she decided to change the subject abruptly to one in which she very much needed the answer to right this moment. "Do you have a chamberpot"?

"Yes" he smiled "It's called outside". Sansa spun round and reached for her boots, she felt him watching her as she pulled them on and quickly hurried out of the hut.

The dozing dragon was still in the spot it had been yesterday, it's tail curled around itself like a giant scaly cat. It lifted it's head as Sansa stomped by to find a secluded spot to relieve her bladder. "You can be quiet too" she called over to the beast. "This is all your bloody fault anyway" she murmured to herself as she bunched her skirts and hunkered down in the snow to make water in the woods.

As she was just finishing her personal business, Sansa was startled to hear a panting sound. Lifting her gaze from the snow, she scrutinises the prickly gorse bush that seems to be the source of the sound. It takes her a while, but after she sees them, she shrieks. Two yellow eyes watching her from within the unforgiving winter foliage. Her breath catches in her throat and for a few seconds yellow holds blue without a sound or movement. Then, as if deliberately slowly, the owner of those eyes emerges. A wolf, slender and yet huge, bigger than any of the ones Sansa had seen slain for their pelts. It's muzzle is stained red and dripping as it ducks its head and watches her scramble backwards, trying to hastily pull her smallclothes back up her legs. She yelps when a bramble holds onto her skirts and during her frantic yanking she manages to inflict two large scratches across the soft flesh of her calf, crimson weeping suddenly from her ivory skin.

Somehow, she frees herself and manages to hear Jon calling her name over the din of her own loud panicked breathing. She flees the wooded area and makes for the clearing where she sees him.

"Jon"! Sansa calls as she gathers her skirts and runs towards him "your wolf"!

Jon holds her loosely by the elbows once they meet, ducking his head to look her in the eye. "What is it"? he asks.

Sansa pants from her exertion for a beat or two as Jon waits for her to repeat herself. "Your wolf....it's here...I was-....I saw it....I saw it's yellow eyes in the gorse and-"

"Yellow eyes"? he interrupts suddenly, shifting their positions, moving her behind him as he faces the area she had fled from.

"What is it"?

"My wolf does not have yellow eyes" Jon answers, pulling a dagger out from his furs and taking up a slight defensive crouch to his stance as he watches the treeline. "Go back to the hut" he whispers over his shoulder.

"But-"

"Go Sansa" he says in a commanding tone as he advances on the woods she had come from. 

After what seems an eternity of waiting, half inside Jon's hut and half clutching to the doorway, Sansa's close watch on the patch of trees and bushes she had witnessed Jon disappear into paid off as he emerged empty handed and apparently unscathed. She breathed a sigh of relief and picked up her skirts to run to him once again - this time in much less of a panic.

"It's gone" he muttered.

"You found it? Did you....kill it? It was huge"!

"No" Jon shook his head "I found it's trail and a half eaten doe but I didn't want to follow for too long and leave you here alone...wherever it's gone - it's gone".

Sansa frowns. "It was a direwolf"?

"Aye" Jon nods "the prints I found look a fair size....I haven't seen one round here, not counting my own". Jon furrows his brow as they begin to walk side-by-side back towards his home. "You shouldn't go out to the woods on your own".

"You're not coming with me when I....when I have to _relieve_ myself Jon"! Sansa protests. Jon's face cracks into a wide smile.

"You'd rather end up in the belly of a wolf"? he chuckles.

"I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell" she declares, bringing her spine up straight "Starks know the ways of the wolf, and I shall not be afraid".

"Yes....I thought as much earlier when you came shrieking out of the trees".

Sansa makes a frustrated noise and shoves at Jon's shoulder with all her strength. It must have caught him off guard because he stumbles and then turns to raise an eyebrow at her in surprise.

"I didn't think Princesses played rough" he smirked, crouching down to gather a handful of snow.

"Jon"? she queried, eyeing the snow he was clumping and shaping in his gloves "Don't you dare"! she says, shaking her head as she backs away from him before he lunges forward, making Sansa squeal and turn to run full pelt towards his hut. 

She can hear the quick crunch of his boots in the snow and a growl from his throat as he chases after her. Sansa can't help let out a giggle as her heart hammers in her chest. Clutching onto her skirts and racing as fast as she can, she distantly acknowledges that she's never been a particularly fast runner - Jon would have the speed to catch her if he wanted. It makes her smile and laugh louder knowing that he's letting her get away.

She comes to a sudden skidded halt when she sees that the dragon has arisen and is stood between her and the dwelling that she would claim sanctuary within. Jon is not far behind her, she can hear his panted breath but she doesn't turn to face him when he too comes to a stop. The beast eyes them both and with a snort, starts to move forward towards them. Sansa takes half a step back, knocking into Jon's chest, he holds onto her upper arms and whispers close to her ear.

"Don't be afraid Wolf Princess...she just wants to say hello".

Sansa keeps her eyes on the dragon as she nods.

"Hold out your hand" he instructs, smoothing his hand down her arm to gently hold her wrist and lift it out in front of her. The dragon approaches and bows it's head to take a sniff of her fingers, Sansa holds her breath. Jon keeps his gentle grip on her, his other hand has moved to her waist but Sansa does not notice. The dragon sniffs and sniffs whilst Jon urges her to stroke the scales of the beasts snout.

"She's beautiful" Sansa breathes.

"She is" Jon says over her shoulder.

Suddenly, the beast huffs out a hot breath that lifts both their hair and makes them squint in it's ferocity. Jon and Sansa begin to laugh only for their gaiety to be cut off when the dragon starts nudging forcefully at Sansa's skirts. The huge animal huffs again as it seems intent on burrowing it's snout in her dress.

"What is she doing"? Sansa asks, a little panicked before the force of the dragon pushes her over with a thud to her behind. Jon starts pushing at the side of the beast's face, urging it to leave Sansa be. But it is of no use. 

In the commotion, Sansa had not noticed that the way in which she had fallen meant that her skirts now bared most of her legs. She had not noticed that the blood from her scratches had turned most of her right leg and a great deal of her underskirt a bright red. She hadn't noticed, but the dragon had. And now Jon had too.

"You're.....hurt" he exclaimed between his renewed efforts to shove the scaly beast away. 

A low warning grumble emanated from the dragons belly as it began to forcefully butt it's head back against Jon, causing him to fall flat on his back in the snow. The creature brought it's hot nostrils back over to Sansa's injured leg. It took a few quick sniffs, inhaling the coppery smell of blood, before it turned to Jon and let out a rumbling growl.

Jon looked from Sansa's leg and then back to the dragon. "Well I didn't do it you daft lizard"! He said, holding up an arm to shield his face from the scorching hot dragon breath. The creature's growl intensified as she inched closer to him "I didn't hurt her"! he tried again.

Without thinking, Sansa stood and moved to place herself between the Wildling and the dragon.

"He didn't do it"! She pleaded. The beast ceased it's terrifying growl instantly as it looked at Sansa and then back to Jon where he still lay on the ground. She narrowed her reptilian eyes and let out a final huff before stomping away.

"Bloody thing" Jon muttered, rising to his feet and dusting off the snow from himself. "Come on" he said, taking her hand.

"Where are we going"? Sansa asked after she realised they were moving away from his hut.

"There's a hot spring in a nearby cave, we need to wash your wound".

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know - IT'S BEEN DECADES SINCE I UPDATED A WIP!!...anyway....ummm...here...have this... *chucks new chapter at you and scurried away*

Even with the glow from the flaming torch that Jon had brought with them, the cave was dark. The flickering fire chased the shadows but the lack of light still served to amplify the earthy, mossy scent that blanketed them. It was oddly warm in comparison to the snowy landscape outside, and was as if the stone itself contained some living ember that gave off the heat.

 _Just like the warm walls of Winterfell. Home._ Sansa thought longingly.

"The water is through here" Jon murmured with a jerk of his head. He paused to offer his hand so that he could lead and keep Sansa's footing sure and stable on the more uneven surfaces. She took his offering lightly at first, barely even getting a hold of him to steady herself. That changed as soon as her boot slipped on a mossy patch, tearing a surprised little yelp from her lungs. The noise bounced off of the cave walls, calling back to them as it ventured deeper into the rocky crevice.

Sansa gripped Jon's hand much tighter after that.

The cave narrowed so that they were taking small side-long steps to get through it, only for their path to then open up to a large cavernous room that made Sansa halt where she stood to gape open mouthed.

"It's beautiful" she gasped, her quiet words echoing through the muggy air along with a drip, drip, drip that Sansa couldn't see the source of. Jon gave her a smile that pulled at one side of his lips more than the other as he watched her taking in their surroundings.

"Sit here" he said, motioning to a rock near the pool of water that took up half of the cave. "And take off your boots and underthings."

"What?!" Sansa exclaimed as she snapped out of her enchantment.

Jon furrowed his brow and waved a hand in the direction of her skirts "those things covering your legs... with the pretty flowers on."

"My stockings?"

"Aye, them" Jon nodded, his eyes still on her skirts as if he were picturing what lay beneath. He eventually dragged his gaze northward to find Sansa looking aghast. Jon let out a huff that morphed into a chuckle, the sound repeating around them. "I can't help you clean the wound if you're still wearing them, Princess."

The memory of Jon's hand curled around the back of her leg as he knelt and inspected her embroidery played out behind her eyes. She could feel the ghost of his breath on her thigh. Sansa tried not to squirm where she stood. She was positive that if they were in the brightness of daylight, Jon would see her cheeks aflame. Luckily, they were surrounded by shadows.

"Alright" she says slowly before seating herself and unlacing her boot.

Jon does not move. Sansa can see him out of the corner of her eye as she's bent over, loosening the laces. She senses him shift a little on his feet and feels his eyes on her.

After pulling off her boot, Sansa gathers up her skirts to her knee, straightening where she sits. Taking a glance at Jon was a bad idea - if she hadn't glanced at him, she wouldn't have seen the way he watched her with heat in his eyes that rivalled that of the torch he was carrying. She wouldn't have seen him lick his lips. And she wouldn't have felt a shiver run down her spine despite the warmth of the cave. She tries to discreetly reach beneath her skirts without pushing them further up her thighs.

Sansa kept her gaze trained forwards as her hand blindly fumbled at the ribbon holding up her stocking. She watched as the odd drop of water fell from the roof of the cave and landed in the pool in front of her with an echoing 'plip' and an expansion of little ripples. Sansa dare not turn to see her Wildling Jon, lest she witness _that_ look in his eye again. She could feel it though. She knew he was watching her with interest. It made her skin feel tight and hot, and her breath short. It felt as if his gaze was pinning her to that spot, making her pulse thunder in a delicious sort of way that Sansa was afraid to acknowledge.

All of a sudden he wasn't standing a few paces away, he was _right there_ , knelt by her side. She sucked in a breath but did not turn her eyes towards him or halt in her ministrations. Eventually, Sansa was able roll down her red-stained stocking - right down to her dainty ankle. Jon bowed his head to inspect her shin, he rid himself of his gloves and curled a large, warm hand around the back of Sansa's calf, lifting it and bringing the torch forward a little so he could see her wound more clearly.

 _Fire and blood_ , Sansa thought distantly.

"Hold this" Jon grunted, shoving the torch into her hand, his eyes not leaving her blood soaked leg. He peeled the ruined stocking over her heel and the rest of the way off of her foot before leaning towards the pool and scooping up a handful of water. Tilting his hand so that a trickle rained down onto her shin, still held in his grasp, diluted blood ran it's course down her leg and foot.

Jon continued this treatment until the majority of red had given way to the alabaster of her skin. He lifted her leg so close to his face that Sansa could feel the huff of his breath as hers seemed to cease completely. Her breathing was kick-started by a sudden inhalation of air when she felt Jon's thumb stroke the back of her calf. She felt as if her whole body buzzed like the beating of a spring bee's wings.

"It's not as bad as it looks" he finally said, still contemplating her wound. "Just scratched the surface, not too deep considerin' the amount of blood there was." Jon lowered her leg as he raised his eyes to meet hers, his hand never left her calf though, and it was as if that contact was all that Sansa could feel - not the muggy cave air, not the rough stone she sat upon, not the heat coming off of the torch in her hand - just the occasional sweep of thumb at the back of her leg. It was quite unnerving.

_It is quite pleasant._

Jon fixed her eyes with his and Sansa felt pinned in place again. She could see the flames dancing in the reflection of grey as she was sure he could in blue. A roll of tongue to wet his lips drew her gaze to that area as her own lips parted slightly in response. She might have missed the way a twitch caused one side of his mouth to tease her if she weren't currently studying the curve of his lips. His thumb stroked the back of her calf again and she felt like one of the stray cats that roam Winterfell - one of the ones that would purr loudly and lean in to your touch when they allowed a scratch below their ears.

"There's some thyme not far from here - it's good for healin'" Jon said, finally leaving her leg be and standing "I'll go get some for a poultice. It might only be a scratch but the sooner it heals, the better. Don't want an infection brewin'."

Sansa nodded and then he was gone, leaving a promise that he'd not take long. She felt like she could breathe again.

Looking around the cave, Sansa watched the water glisten on the rocky walls as the flames of her torch flickered. She managed to find somewhere to prop it, between a few large rocks, so that she was able to rid herself of the other boot and stocking (much faster this time without being watched). She gathered her skirts higher and lowered herself right at the edge of the pool, danging one leg in, and then the other with a sigh.

The water was warm and yet refreshing as she slowly kicked her legs beneath it. It was surprisingly deep, even at the edge - her legs would completely disappear from sight when she lowered them to the depths. Sansa continued the slow steady movement for a while as her thoughts drifted, her eyes caught on the surface ripples.

_Robb would like it here. And Bran, and Arya...baby Rickon might be scared, but I'd hold his hand and-_

"Do you want to bathe?" Jon's voice made her jump where she sat, her head snapping in his direction. Sansa gasped and clutched at her chest. Her gasp echoed around the cave whilst she continued to stare at Jon. He arched an eyebrow and pointed his chin towards the water. "Princesses like to keep clean and smellin' nice don't they? You can bathe here if you like. We won't get a chance again while we travel to The Wall."

Sansa said nothing, the thought of slipping into the warm waters and washing the grime from her body was a tempting one. _But that means disrobing, and that means-_

"I think I might take a dip" Jon said suddenly, leaving what Sansa supposed was the thyme he had gathered on a nearby stone before he started peeling away his layers of furs. Sansa gaped at him, her eyes darting around with his movements.

"You can't" she squeaked.

Jon stilled as he had gathered the front of his undershirt, ready to pull it over his head. He gave her a wicked grin. Sansa wasn't sure if she hated that grin or not. "I can" he responded teasingly, his eyes glinting in the torchlight before he rid himself of his shirt. Sansa's stare raked over his chest and lower down his stomach as the muscles in his arms worked at the cord that was holding his breeches up. She turned her face away abruptly just as he began to tug them down, before she saw anything. Sansa's screwed her eyes shut, but she could still see the image of the lines of his hipbones and the start of his dark man's hair behind her eyelids.

"What's the matter? Not seen a man bare before Princess?" Jon said. Sansa could hear the tease in his voice and the pad of his feet as he neared her.

_Is he naked now? Should I look?... No!_

"I'm not a Princess, Jon!" Sansa responded, twisting her body away from his approaching form to shield herself anything she might not want to see. 

_Or do I want to see?_

_No! A lady does not wish for such things._

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest. She could sense that he was close to her now, maybe even stood right next to her. Her mind conjured the image of the light trailing line of hair that travelled southward from his navel. She held her breath and heard him chuckle right beside her.

"You haven't have you?"

"I have" she lied. She'd seen her brother's bodies often enough when playing in the hot spring or when they fled Old Nan naked as their namedays, trying to out run an overdue bath. But they were the bodies of young boys. Robb had stopped all that bare horsing around as soon as he'd started to grow in height, some hair began to sprout upon his chin and his voice deepened. 

_Bodies of boys. Not a man._

Jon chuckled once more at her refusal to glance his way. The noise rankled Sansa, so she huffed and twisted her torso back to glare at him, her arms still folded tightly in front of her chest. He was completely naked and only a few paces away from her. Further than she had originally thought. She was eye level with _'it'_ though, and refused to look at anything but his face.

_Don't look down. Don't look down._

Her eyes bore into his. Jon wore an infuriating knowing smirk that Sansa would very much like to wipe off of his face. He came to sit down next to her. She tried to suppress the urge to shuffle away from him as the cave suddenly felt stiflingly hot, not unlike the smithy at Winterfell.

"And what of you? Have you seen a woman's body? A woman grown?" She said, trying not to glance at him too often.

_His face. Just look at his face. Nothing else._

"Aye" 

"But....I thought you said you'd never met a woman worth 'stealing'?" Sansa asked, cursing herself as her eyes flitted southward on his body, she snapped her head to be facing forward once more.

"Well, when I was a younger, more curious lad, me and a few of my friends may have happened upon a few spearwives bathin' a time or two. Got myself a look of a woman's body then...much like you're tryin' not to do with me right now" he laughed and knocked his shoulder into hers. Sansa huffed and turned back to look at him again. Willing herself to see his face, and _only_ his face. "Besides," he continued "you see the odd teat and arse when a couple are fucking like dogs right next to where you're sleepin'..." Sansa's mouth hung open "...not that I'd expect you to know anythin' about that, Princess" Jon finished with a grin.

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"It's warmer to sleep with others" he shrugged, like that was a decent enough explanation.

"And people just-....right there?....next to you?!" Sansa spluttered

Jon shrugged once more in response before slipping into the water with hardly any disturbance to the surface. He ducked down so that it covered his shoulders and turned to face her. "Come on" he urged, his arms wafting slow circles under the water "you'll feel better after."

"So you can _'get yourself a look'_ at the _'odd teat and arse'_ again? I don't think so."

Jon's bark of laughter filled the cave and reverberated off the walls, echoing again and again all around them. It made Sansa jump at it's volume, only for a little giggle to escape her own lips. She ducked her head and placed a hand over her mouth, slowly raising her eyes to look at Jon through her lashes. He was studying her again with that feral heated look upon his face. Jon licked his lips before speaking.

"I doubt there's anything _'odd'_ about your teats or arse, Princess."

There was a pause where they just watched each other, where the echo of Jon's laughter had faded and there was only the occasional drip of water or crackle of the torch fire. Suddenly, Sansa kicked her leg out of the water, sending a spray directly at Jon's face. He spluttered a bit at the unexpected splash.

"You cheeky shit!" Sansa called out before clamping both hands over her own mouth. She'd heard that word a few times, spoken by men about the castle when they weren't aware that their voices were within her earshot. She'd even heard her own Lord father mutter it a time or two.

"I didn't know Princess's mouths were so foul!" Jon laughed, holding up his hands to shield his face from further sprays of water as Sansa continued to kick.

Sansa giggled happily, not remembering the last time she'd felt like this. Jon advanced on her as she splashed. Standing up, the water came to the middle of his torso as he slowly waded forward until he was able to wrap his hands around Sansa's legs, bringing her shins flush with his body, ceasing her kicking. 

The cave went quiet apart from the dying echo of Sansas laughter as Jon looked up at her, hair now dripping from her attack.

"Well....you _are_  cheeky" Sansa said, her voice coming out as a whisper without her meaning it to.

Jon smirked "and a shit".

Sansa smiled and ducked her head before meeting his gaze again and nodding. She could feel his ribs expand against her shins with each breath he took.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, distracting Sansa thoroughly. "We won't get to bathe while we trek to The Wall..." his thumbs began that delicious sweeping motion on her skin where his hands cupped her calves "....it'll take us at least a week to reach it."

Sansa watched intently as a water droplet rolled down Jon's neck, clung to his collarbone where it joined with another tiny pebble of water and then raced down his chest. "Alright" she said slowly, her eyes returning to his as she felt Jon's hands give her calves a slight squeeze. His skin was almost unbearably hot against her legs. She could hear a breath lodge in his throat. He was too close. "Turn around. I'm not bathing in front of you."

Jon only smiled a teasing smile, his eyes boring into hers as he backed away before turning to face the cave wall.

"You won't look?"

"Aye Sansa, I won't look" he promised, his voice wrapping itself around her true name.

Bringing her legs up out of the water, Sansa stood to rid herself of her clothing. Mentally cursing once she realised she needed assistance with her lacings once again.

"Jon" she croaked, stilling her own fumbling hands behind herself.

"Princess."

Sansa tutted and sighed, the noise bouncing back to her ears. She could picture that insufferable smirk that was undoubtably on Jons face.

"Sansa" he corrected softly.

"I need help...to undress."

Jon turned his head a fraction, still not able to see her. "You do realise that I'd have to look at you for that." Sansa rolled her eyes.

"Just come and do my laces."

"Is that how you speak to poor Millie?" He teased, turning to face her now.

"Jon please" she whimpered. The sound or the words - she wasn't sure which - causing his lips to fall open in surprise.

He cleared his throat and Sansa watched his Adam's Apple bob as he slowly waded forwards, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of a particular thought. "Aye" he answered hoarsely "I'll help you."

 _Curious_.

The muscles in his arms strained as he hauled himself out of the pool, water racing down his body to meet the stone floor beneath him and sticking dark hair to his skin. 

Sansa whipped round with a furious blush upon her cheeks to give Jon her back. Her eyes had followed rivulets that travelled over the planes of his stomach and further down.

_A man's body. Not a boy's....It's.....It's....not unpleasant._

She heard his breathing as he neared her back and felt a wet finger drag across her neck as he brushed her hair forward to one side over her shoulder. Sansa shivered despite the warmth and cursed herself for it when an answering low chuckle came from Jon's throat.

"Kissed by fire" he murmured after a while.

"I'm sorry?"

"We say that those who's hair has been kissed by fire are lucky."

Sansa didn't feel lucky. She wasn't sure what she felt. Jon's hands began to tug at her lacings as her dress began to loosen.

"Perhaps I'm the lucky one."

"Your hair is as dark as a raven's wings. You're not ' _kissed by fire_ ' at all."

"Aye. I'm not. But I was given a gift that is."

Sansa grew hot. She was quite suddenly aware of just how close Jon was - standing behind her with not a stitch of clothing, dripping onto the cave floor as he worked to rid her of her own clothes.

"I am not a gift" she whispered in a voice that cracked and did not sound like her own.

Sansa's eyes drifted closed when she felt the heat of Jon's breath on the back of her neck, causing a trickle of gooseflesh to tumble down her spine. He dragged the lightest touch of his nose up to the start of Sansa's hair where he inhaled deeply as if she were the first bloom of a Winter Rose.

"A gift from the Old Gods....for me to cherish."

She felt him lay his lips softly upon her skin. Sansa's breath refused to leave her throat as her heart beat wildly in her chest.

"Sansa?" Jon whispered

He was asking something but she was not sure what. Permission of some sort. 

_But don't Wildlings just steal? Take what they want without permission granted?_

She felt him lay a warm, tentative hand on her hip.

"Sansa?" he repeated.

Sansa's eyes fluttered open, and there, blocking the entrance to the cave were two red eyes and a face stained with blood.

She screamed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that not 'much' has 'happened' but the story can properly start from the next chapter! :-)
> 
> ps - I was going for sexual tension. Was there sexual tension? Did it work? Am I useless? Gaaaah!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN 84 YEARS....
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to anyone who's still reading this!

Sansa’s cry died against Jon’s warm, still wet palm as he clamped a hand over her mouth. The remnants of her fear bouncing around the cave, briefly making it sound as though there were a dozen Sansas all shrieking in horror. “Shh, shh,” he whispered next to her ear in a manner which seemed altogether far too calm and at complete odds with the sight before her. Sansa’s body was screaming _fight or flight_ , _fight or flight_ , and judging by the powerful jaws that dripped blood and sinew, _flight_ was all that Sansa had left.  “He won’t hurt you,” Jon murmured, lowering his hand. “That’s Ghost. He’s my wolf.”

“Your-“ Sansa gasped, her breath caught in her throat and refusing to budge as her heart skid to a painful pause. The huge beast ahead of them was much, much larger than the one she’s seen in the thicket with the yellow eyes. This one was as white as the snow outside, with eyes as red as the blood staining it’s muzzle. The animal took a step forward with its powerful giant paws and Sansa found herself retreating a step in response. _Flight,_ Sansa thought, _flee!_ She sucked in some of the cave’s earthy air sharply when the now bare expanse of her back pressed up against the hard, warm and wet form of the Wildling behind her. She froze despite the clammy feeling of her skin. “That is no pet,” she accused hoarsely, shaking her head and keeping her eye on the wolf before her.

“Aye,” Jon rasped, his hand that had been over her mouth delicately brushing her neck on its journey back to her hip. “He’s more like a friend.” Sansa could feel Jon breathing at her back, not only his breath fanning over her shoulder and neck, but the rising and falling of his chest and stomach with every inhale and exhale.

The wolf made to take another step towards them and once more Sansa tried to shrink back. Jon squeezed her hip and whispered assurances into her skin. “It’s alright. It’s alright Sansa…Here,” Jon offered, moving aside and starting to walk past her, “I’ll show you. Just let him get used to you and he’ll treat you like one of his pack.” Jon began walking towards Ghost, one arm in front of him in greeting. Sansa eyed the enormous animal warily until her gaze drifted to her Wildling friend. She let out a little yelp that bounced off the jagged stone walls of the cave and promptly covered her eyes with her hands.

_I’d forgotten he was naked!_

She willed, and she willed, and she willed for the image of the rounded cheeks of Jon’s behind to disappear. It was of no use, she realised as she felt her face aflame beneath her hands. That image will stay with her for a good long while. She heard him chuckle and deduced that he knew exactly what had affected her so. “Will you put on some clothes, please?” she huffed.

“Not just yet” he replied on the other side of her hands, “I’m not done bathin’ and I reckon Ghost here stands a better chance at getting to know you better if he’s scrubbed some too.” With that, she heard a splash. “Here boy!” Jon called. Sansa lowered her hands just in time to see a colossal white blur leap and then disappear into the dark pool causing and almighty surge of water to slosh in all directions. Jon laughed happily as he raised an arm to shield himself from the splash. Sansa stood there agape as she watched the Wildling rough-house with the giant white wolf as if it were no more than a domesticate pup.

“You’re mad,” Sansa found herself declaring out loud in her astonishment. Both Jon and Ghost ceased their horsing around and simultaneously turned to look at her, grey and red watching her intently. “Utterly, utterly mad,” she reaffirmed.

“Why? Because I’m friends with a wolf?”

“Not just any wolf,” Sansa protests, lifting a hand to indicate towards Ghost – who in turn, cocked his head to the side, “a giant direwolf! Aren’t you afraid?”

“Of Ghost?” Jon asks with a smirk as he looks over his beastly companion. “Naah,” he says, reaching up and using both hands to dunk the animal’s head under the murky water, the wolf remerging snorting half the pool out of its snout as Jon laughed on. “Had him since he was a pup. I’m part of his pack.” He looked up to her with a lopsided smile and outstretched arm, “would you like to be part of his pack too, Princess?”

“I…” she wrung her hands together as her eyes flitted between Jon and his wolf. _You’re a wolf too,_ a voice inside her said, _be a wolf, become part of his pack_ …. _it’s dangerous_ and _it’s not proper_ another voice whispered.

Jon dropped his welcoming arm back into the water as he watched the indecision cloud over Sansa’s face. “He won’t hurt you,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t let him.”

“If he wanted to hurt me, I doubt that there’s much you could do about it,” Sansa argued, eyeing the huge powerful jaws on the beast.

“I’d never let any harm come to you, Sansa,” Jon vowed. He’d spoken the words in such a tone that it had made Sansa shiver. She believed him and hoped that she were no fool to do so. She’d liked the way his promise had sounded, husky and without any pretence.

“Alright,” Sansa said slowly, her hands coming up automatically to push her dress sleeve down her arm before she gasped, not realising what it was she was doing. “Turn around,” she demanded, her cheeks colouring as she pushed her sleeve back up her bare shoulder. Jon chuckled softly and then complied, giving her his back.

“Are you sure that you won’t see anything once I’m in the water?”

“Can you see anything of me?” Jon asked in response. Sansa squinted into the dark of the pool, the ripples in the water made it very difficult to focus on anything, the glowing reflection of the torchlight didn’t help either. The water was dark, and earthy brown colour from the stones below, but it was clear, she could just about make out the distorted pale limbs of her Wildling friend but there was nothing of any real detail. _Not like what I’d glimpsed at before_ , she thought, the memory of Jon’s bare bottom making her blush. Her eyes wandered upwards, the water came to his slim waist, his broad shoulders rising high out of it. He was pleasing to look at, Sansa decided, noticing the play of his muscles as he continued to stroke Ghost at his side. “Are you _trying_ to see anything of me?” Jon teased all of a sudden, bringing Sansa forth from her own little insular world.

“No!” she squeaked, finally deciding to let the loosened dress fall to the stone floor with a _thwump_. Holding her breath, Sansa untied her underskirt and stepped out of it before allowing her loosened shift to join the rest of her clothes on the stones as well, her hands instantly flying to cover her breasts.

“I can get out again if you’d prefer to look your fill, Princess, it’s of no bother to me, you know.”

“You’re incorrigible, do you know that?” Sansa mutters, shaking her head, although she’s sure a smile is trying to set in as her heart rattled in her chest.

Jon scratched at his head. “No, I don’t. ‘Course, it would help if I knew that big fancy word and what it meant….I’m going to assume it’s somethin’ akin to ‘bloody gorgeous’ or ‘ruggedly handsome’.” Sansa laughed, the jingle of it echoing all around them until it petered off into a quiet girlish giggle. “I like that sound,” Jon admitted. “Are you getting in?”

Sansa sucked in some air over her teeth and placed her hands on the waist if her smallclothes. If she did this, she would be _bare_ … completely _naked_ … _in a cave_ … _with a Wildling_. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest as she pushed the material down her legs and stepped out of her underthings as they puddled on the ground. She frowned down at the fabric – sky blue silk with embroidered winter roses from her own hand. The item of clothing was so delicate, it looked completely at odds crumpled on the dirty stone. A small part of her thought she ought to pick them up, lay them out somewhere where they were not so brazenly discarded. Another part countered that there was nought more brazen than for her to continue standing in the middle of the cave without a stitch on her body when she could be under the cover of water.

“Princess?” Jon urged, turning his head but not looking.

“I’m getting in,” Sansa replied, hurrying to sit at the pool’s edge, dipping her feet into the warm water before scooting her bottom forward, her legs being swallowed by the pool. She shuffled even closer and lowered herself in with nary a ripple breaking the water’s surface. Sansa ducked down, her chin dipping into the warmth and the length of her hair now fanning out around her, floating against the dark. She took a breath or two before letting Jon know that she was in.

The Wildling chuckled as he turned, “dainty and proper even when bathin’ eh?”

Sansa was about to retort, _why should she be anything else?,_ when the great white wolf lunged excitedly at her, making her gasp and flinch, her back hitting the rough stone of the pool’s edge, the sting of it making her want to wince and hiss. She held her breath instead as Jon grabbed on to Ghost, his arms barely able to circle the soaked ruff around the animal’s neck.

“Easy boy. Easy,” Jon murmured, “you won’t make friends like that.” Sansa stayed where she was, eying them both warily. Jon glanced over his shoulder at her, recognising the trepidation in her expression. “Come on boy,” he said, moving to be in front of Ghost, his back still to Sansa. “You’ve got to look presentable when meetin’ a Princess,” he told the wolf, moving to scrub at the red stains around the animal’s jaws, “or so I’m told.”

Sansa watched the movement of his shoulder blade as he worked on his wolf’s appearance, the flow of muscle beneath his skin. She’d hardly been aware that she was so transfixed until Jon turned and caught her staring. He said nothing of it, preferring instead to simply smirk – which Sansa thought may be worse. She ducked further down into the water.

“Come on Ghost, meet Sansa,” he said, walking forwards with both hands grasping at the wolf’s fur. Ghost licked at his jowls and tried to surge forward once more. “Easy boy, don’t frighten her.”

“I’m not frightened,” Sansa whispered, she thinks perhaps to herself, more than anyone else.

“Of course not,” Jon said with a smile as they inched closer, “you rode a dragon after all.”

Sansa had been staring at the approaching wolf, but Jon’s words made her head snap to him. _I…I did, didn’t I?_ She thought, courage sprouting from somewhere within. She snorted lightly. “Your dragon grabbed me and took off! You can hardly call that riding.”

Jon tilted his head to the side, an amused grin on his face as he edged closer still with his wolf. “True,” he agreed, “that was terribly rude of her. If I were a dragon, I’d certainly let you ride me.”

Sansa’s pursed lips framed her next words before she really heard what it was Jon had said. She furrowed her brow at him, somehow getting the feeling that he wasn’t talking about riding dragons anymore. Jon laughed at her expression and all of a sudden, he was before her. And so was Ghost.

“Ghost,” Jon said to his wolf, “this is Sansa. She is my friend. She’s yours too now boy. You must protect her, alright?” Ghost strained forwards, resisting against the Wildling’s grasp as he tried desperately to get a good sniff of her.

Sansa started to reach out, pausing to glance up at Jon, checking that she was doing the right thing. Jon nodded his approval. Looking back at the wolf, at his powerful jaws and huge powerful frame, Sansa realised that if he’d really wanted to have at her, to devour her, then there wasn’t much that she could do about it. She found herself glancing back up to Jon, the very same notion somehow skipping through her head about him.

The very first bit of contact Sansa had with a direwolf was that of his warm slobbering tongue as Ghost lapped happily at her fingers. Sansa scrunched her nose but giggled none-the-less. “You’re not so scary, are you boy?” The wolf whined and Jon finally relented and released his grip on his fur. Sansa held her breath as Ghost sniffed every inch of her that was above the water – which consisted of her face, head and the very top of her shoulders.

“He likes you,” Jon commented as the wolf began licking at her face, his massive rough tongue near dwarfing her cheek.

“I like him too.”

After a short while of Ghost showering her with attention, and Sansa rapidly coming to coo over the giant wolf like he was a baby to be fussed over, Jon huffed and near enough shoved the beast away. “That’s enough you big oaf,” he muttered, pushing Ghost away and coming to sink directly in front of Sansa himself. Sansa gasped softly at how near he had settled, ducking down in the water to mimic her position. “You’re not ‘fraid of a direwolf no more, but _I_ scare you?”

“You’re just…so close,” Sansa whispered, some of the pool sloshing up against her mouth.

Jon moved back a little. Ghost whined and tried to return to give Sansa his attention again. Jon batted him away without ever taking his eyes from her. “Is that better?”

“It depends,” Sansa answers, “can you see any of me in the water?”

Jon’s dark eyes drift over her submerged body, staring so intently that it makes Sansa shiver despite the warmth of the water. His tongue rolls out to wet his lips unnecessarily and Sansa briefly wonders what it would feel like for his tongue to roll over hers. “No, I can’t see you,” Jon’s eyes flick up to hers making Sansa feel like her skin is boiling over, “but I’d like to though.” He watches her carefully, trying to read her face like a map until one side of his mouth slowly quirks upwards causing a lop-sided smile. “But I suppose that privilege is for your future lord husband?”

“Yes,” Sansa find herself croaking hoarsely, her eyes glued to Jon’s smile.

“Tell me…will you grant your husband many kisses?”

“O-of course. He will be my husband.”

Jon licks his lips again and Sansa feels a little dazed by watching the plump of his mouth. “Have you kissed anyone before, Sansa?”

“No, I…”

“Would you like to?”

Unable to tear here gaze away from his devilish mouth, Sansa’s breath stutters out from between her parted lips. “I…I’m not supposed to-“

“But would you _like_ to?” Jon asks, moving closer.

Sansa’s head nods minutely of its own accord as her mind accuses her body of treason against rational thought.

“I wouldn’t tell,” he rasps.

Sansa freezes, her joints seeming to seize as her breath gets stolen by an unseen thief. Jon senses her hesitation and takes another step back. His gaze drops to the water once more in thought, until a slight grin appears on his face. “And here I was thinkin’ fair maidens grant their brave knights kisses of thanks.”

Sansa frowns at him. “You are no knight,” she shakes her head.

“Aye. Maybe so. But I saved you from that beast over there,” Jon smiled, quirking his head in the direction of Ghost who had climbed out of the pool by now and was rolling on his back in a patch of moss, his massive paws flailing around in the air in a rather ungainly display.

Sansa laughed. “I’m not sure he counts.”

“Did you not see how I risked my very life to defend you against those deathly jaws?” he smirked.

“Yes, very brave indeed,” Sansa agreed, a wide smile upon her face as Ghost lolled his tongue out and began to pant with his legs still up in the air.

“You’re not helping Ghost,” Jon called over to his friend, “I’m trying to get my kiss from a princess here.”

Suddenly feeling a little bold, Sansa takes a step forward, the action not going unnoticed by Jon as he turns back to watch her. “Maybe,” she starts and Jon nods, urging her to continue, “maybe…it would be beneficial for me to…practice?” she asks, faint and unsure. Jon sucks in a breath and stays still as Sansa continues to slowly approach him, gliding forwards with the water right up to her chin. She stops mere inches from his face, both sets of eyes watching the other. “Would that be alright?” she whispers, her heart in her throat.

“More than alright,” Jon responds, and Sansa can feel the breath of every murmured word against her lips.

Sansa thinks her pulse has never pounded as forcefully or thudded as loudly as in the moment that her lips tentatively brushed against Jon’s. It’s a chaste kiss, slower than a peck, but much more decent than some she’d witnessed occurring in secret alcoves at feasts. Jon whines like his wolf had when she pulls away, his lips chasing after hers before she watches his eyes slowly blink open.

“I think you might need some more practice,” he says eagerly, shifting ever so slightly closer, his knees bumping with hers under the water where they’re both still crouched down.

Sansa grins and shakes her head, placing a halting hand on his shoulder and trying desperately not to think of the hard muscle beneath her fingers. “If I practice too much, you’ll ruin me.”

Jon frowned. “I’m not sure I follow tha’ line of thought. ‘Practice makes perfect’ last time I checked,” he made to move forwards again but allowed her to stop him once more, even though Sansa swears she hears him whimper.

“Well, the next time I want to practice, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Jon eyed her sceptically. “Or perhaps the next time you save me from some beast or another, I’ll give you a reward.”

Jon’s lips morphed into a wide grin. “Oh I like the sound of that,” he said before it seemed a thought came to his mind. “You know, you could probably say that I’d saved you from my dragon…that’s got to be worth a reward, right?” Sansa shook her head in amusement as she backed away towards the edge of the pool once more. “Maybe I’ll get lucky on our journey south and happen upon a bear or a shadowcat,” he mused, “I wouldn’t mind fending them off for the chance of another kiss of yours.”

Sansa blinked at him. _On our journey south._ She’d near enough forgotten, her gut twisting uncomfortably at the realisation. _How could I forget about going home?_ “We can go now?” She asked aloud.

“Yes,” Jon nodded, “now that Ghost is back we can….unless…you’d like to stay here with me? I wouldn’t mind that at all either.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written quite quickly when I had very little time but the muse struck me...expect typos...

Sansa hugged Jon’s furs to her chest after he’d demanded she wear them over her undone dress, leaving him in only his deerskin breeches and undershirt. _“You’re still wet,”_ he’d explained, _“you’ll freeze out there.”_

Sansa hadn’t contemplated just how it was she was going to get dry after her dip in the hot-spring. There were no waiting maids with drying cloths beyond the wall and Jon had suggested simply sitting and talking until their skin dried of its own accord. Well, Sansa was not about to lounge around as bare as he was as she tried desperately to avert her eyes from his intimate areas, all the while feeling his eyes on her. No – Sansa stayed within the warmth of the water until she was almost pickled, while Jon laid languorously out on the pool’s edge, one foot still dipped into the water as he was on his back, staring up at the cave ceiling, one hand resting on his chest, the other behind his head. The Wildling had no qualms at all with regards to his nakedness. In fact, Sansa more than suspects that he _wants_ her to see him – that he’s displaying himself so on purpose. She had turned her back to him as she kept herself ducked under the darkness of the water. He may wish for her to admire his lithe, hunters body…..but that doesn’t mean she has to look, does it?

They were running now with Ghost keeping up an easy looking trot beside them, every now and again stopping to sniff at the base of a tree or rock. Jon had grabbed ahold of her hand and pulled her along with him. “It’s bloody freezing, come on!” He’d laughed as she kept his furs wrapped around her with her free hand, cocooning her upper half in a warmth that should be his. The hem of her dress was laden with heavy melted snow and the boots began to feel a little soggy. She laughed none-the-less as Jon grinned back at her, tugging her along towards his hut where they could build a fire and dry beside its crackling and popping orange tongues.

Reaching the clearing, Sansa stopped, digging her heels into the powdery snow. “What is it?” Jon asked, looking back at her in confusion.

“Your dragon,” Sansa gestured to the empty clearing, not sure why the sight induced a pang in her chest. “She’s gone.”

Jon shrugged, starting to move again, pulling Sansa towards his hut. “She’s not a pet, Princess. That animal comes and goes as she pleases.”

Later, once evening had started to settle and Jon and Sansa had settled too, the fire hissed in front of them as Jon added another log, sparks floating up above the dancing flames. He sat back, and Sansa could feel his gaze on her as she continued combing her fingers through her still damp hair. It is sure to look an absolute fright once it dried fully. She longs for her boar-bristle brush or silver and ivory tooth comb.

“What is it?” Sansa finally asks, her voice laced with notes of irritation after a good long while of her cheek flaming under Jon’s intense vigil.

He chuckles quietly in response, the noise stirring something curious low in Sansa’s belly. “You don’t like it when I look at you,” he observed, lifting his chin as the glow of the fire casting shadows on his contented looking face.

“You…stare at me.”

Jon leant forwards, his elbows resting on his knees. “Don’t all the little lordlings down south stare at you, Princess?”

 _No,_ she thought, shaking her head and looking down to her lap. _Not even Joffrey, who may well still be my betrothed had ever looked at me the way you do._ The fire popped as embers swirled higher and higher. A warmth brushed against her side as she realised that Jon had switched seats, coming to sit right next to her, his splayed legs meaning that his thigh pressed against hers.

“Well then they must all be blind,” he whispered, leaning into her making her heart thump more forcefully in her chest, “or fools.”

“It-“ Sansa paused, her mouth curiously dry as her pulse thrummed in her veins, “it’s only that it is terribly rude to stare.”

Jon chuckled once more, shifting ever so slightly away from her and turning his attention to the fire. “Is it?”

They sat in silence for a while, Sansa watching the shadows twist and pulse as Jon stoked the flames with a long slender, leafless branch. Ghost snored lightly from where he took up most of the pile of furs in the corner. “You sure you want t’ go back?” Jon murmured quietly.

Sansa considered his question, all the while knowing that there is only one answer. “I miss my home,” she whispered to her lap.

“Aye,” Jon sighed, scrubbing at the back of his neck before standing, “we best prepare for the trek then.”

Sansa watched as Jon moved about his small hut, picking up a deerskin sack and stuffing various provisions inside. She blinked when he lifted his bed furs, dislodging his wolf who huffed and wandered outside in response, a rumble of protest echoing in the beast’s chest. Jon reached around, fishing about under his bedding until he found what he was looking for, pulling back his hand that now grasped a smallish book.

“You read?” Sansa blurted.

“Some,” Jon nodded, not turning to look at her as he continued to rummage around for the items they will be needing on their journey, “my mother tried t’ teach me but I was too keen on runnin’ around with the other lads, fightin’ and huntin’ an’ such to bother too much about it.” Jon shrugged to himself before meeting Sansa’s eyes. “Maybe you could teach me some more on our way down south, Princess?” he grinned. Sansa nodded, oddly keen on the notion. “Here,” Jon said, coming over to where she sat to hand her a bundle of cloth, “you best have that.”

“What is it?”

“A dagger.”

Sansa peered down at the wrappings in her lap before tentatively prying open the bundle. She let out a soft huff at the weapon, the blade glinting in the firelight. The handle was made from some kind of horn with crudely carved tiny wolves running along the length of it.

“It was my mother’s,” Jon supplied, “she was keen on takin’ a stag down an’ wanted t’ use the antlers.”

“I don’t know how to use this,” Sansa said meekly, picking the item up and turning it over in her hands with curious reverence.

“I’m sure a clever thing like you could work it out Princess,” Jon chuckled, earning him a scowl.

“Jon, I don’t-“ she began, holding the knife by the blade and offering it back to him.

Jon glanced at the dagger, not making a single move to retrieve it from her. “I’d feel better if you kept it, Sansa.”

After Jon was happy that he’d gathered everything of use, he offered Sansa some dried, salted meat, of what origin, Sansa did not know – goat or deer maybe.

“We’ll have to go t’ the camp,” Jon said before tearing off another bit of tough meat to chew.

“The camp?”

“Aye,” he gestured to her skirts, “we need to get you some better clothin’ and some proper boots if you’re t’ make it t’ the wall.”

“But-“ she stuttered, a little alarmed – not only at encountering more wildlings, but having to dress in their clothing too.

“I’ll take the goat t’ trade for the clothes,” Jon continued as he chomped on his food. “It’s either that or you lose a toe or two t’ frostbite on the way.”

That did it. Sansa clamped her open mouth shut. She very much wanted to keep all of her toes. Jon grinned to himself as he reached for another piece of tough, chewy meat.

They started off early the next day – before the dawn light started streaking blazes of orange across the waning knight sky. The going was tough. Sansa’s legs soon ached from constantly trudging through thick layers of snow and she’s sure that her skirts now weight more than she did, what with how sodden they were.

Jon carried much of their supplies – bundles of food and furs as he also led his goat ready to trade. Sansa offered to take more prompting Jon to strap a skin sack to her back. She soon came to regret the offer after the ache in the legs was forgotten for the ache in her lower back. She didn’t say anything, even though Jon kept looking at her with a concerned expression on his face.

Ghost came and went as he pleased, trotting alongside them or bounding off on his own amongst the trees. He’d taken to walking by her side when he did accompany them though, which delighted Sansa greatly. She could hardly believe how scared she had been upon first meeting him – that is, until he came back to them with a face of blood as they found a place to rest and have a bite to eat.

They neared the small wildling settlement just before dusk. Sansa was in low spirits, weary from only one day’s trek, her bones sore, her feet freezing and her hair an absolute mess.

“Wait here,” Jon whispered as they crouched on the edge of the camp. Sansa could see dark shapes moving as people wandered around fires and huts. “they can’t see you like that.”

“Like what?”

Jon shook his head and chuckled as he so often does with her now. “I can’t heve ‘em seein’ my Princess dressed like that,” he explained, “they’ll know you for a southerner. Just stay low. Wait here. I’ll trade the goat for some clothin’ an’ come right back.”

“I’m not a southerner!” Sansa hissed at him as he moved out from their hiding place, watching his shoulders shake lightly, imagining him chuckling once more.

Sansa stayed low, her eyes trained on the retreating form on Jon leading the goat. She held her breath as he was met with some other dark shadows and shapes. Just about able to make out his hand gestures turning from his goat to the people he was talking to, Sansa leant forwards, her fingers nearly numb from pressing into the snow.

“You ain’t from round ‘ere” came the growl in her ear, accompanied by the putrid stench of foul breath and the cold sting of a blade to her throat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Attempted rape and violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small update to keep the momentum going!

The clammy hand clamped over her mouth, squashing down the scream that had prepared to leap and forced it back down her throat. The arm that held the knife wrapped roughly about her middle, hooking onto her and dragging her back from the edge of the little clearing before the camp. Sansa kicked as erratically as her heart thud in her chest, her soggy boots sending little sprays of powdery snow out before her.

She wanted to yell for help. She wanted Jon back, but all she could do was let out some muffled noises against a dirty palm as the camp disappeared from view, and Jon with it.

“This’ll be over sooner if yer quit yer stugglin’, girl,” the man growled in her ear as he yanked her behind a gorse bush, spun her ‘round and shoved her to the floor. He looked her up and down with his hand around her neck, keeping her in place. “I don’t know where yer come from with fancy clothes like tha’, but if you be good n’ lay still, I’ll not rip any of yer silks or whatnot.”

The man was a Wildling to be sure – what else could he be this far north of the wall? – but Sansa found the sight a shock none-the-less. He was filthy with matted hair and horribly crooked yellowing teeth. With the layers of furs he wore it was hard to decipher his build, but his face was pale and gaunt, with hollowed cheeks and bug-eyes. He stank of stale sweat, earthy filth and soured milk.

With one hand still curled around Sansa’s neck, pressing her back into the snow, the man reached down himself with his free hand, trying ineffectively to loosen his woollen breeches.

Sansa’s eyes widened with the realisation. She felt sick. She shook her head and tried to shuffle out from under him. It was no use, his fingers squeezed her throat, biting into her skin. “Please, no,” she whimpered, trying desperately not to cry. “Please…”

“ _Stay still!”_ the man hissed, “before I club yer head and _make_ yer still.”

Sansa’s lip trembled as she froze, clamping her eyes shut against the sight of him. She felt him though. The hand around her neck crawled down to paw at her breast as she heard his breath become harsh and excitable.

“Yer a young’un ain’t yer?” she heard the man say behind the blackness of her eyelids, his voice sounding as if it came from a detestable grin. “Yer ever been _fucked,_ young’un?” he leant in to rasp in into the side of her cheek, pressing his sweaty face to Sansa’s skin. “That young lad yer came with…he ever fucked yer? Or will I get t’ be the first into that sweet little cunt o’ yours?”

Sansa’s skin crawled as she held her breath, the man’s stench assaulting her nostrils, his threats lashing at her ears making her heart beat like a war drum in her chest. She felt one of his hands start to travel down her body.

“An’ I bet it is a sweet little cunt too, ay? Topped with lucky ginger hair like the strands on yer pretty head.”

Sansa squirmed against him as his hand met her hip, her mind suddenly catching up with her. _The dagger._

“Yer stop fightin’ it now, an’ you’ll be lucky still. I won’t ‘ave t’ cut tha’ pretty little throat once I’m done if yer quiet and yer hold still.”

Sansa opened her eyes, her tongue flicked over her lips as she nodded. “I’ll….I’ll hold still…just don’t…don’t hurt me.”

The Wildling grinned a hideously victorious grin. “Clever girl.” He reared up, letting go of her in order to clumsily untie his breeches, his dagger still in one of his hands. He got as far as loosening them enough to push them down his thighs when Sansa grabbed the blade that was tucked into her belt.

“Get off of me, _Wildling!”_ she spat, the dagger pushed under the man’s chin. The man paused, raising his hands slowly as if not wanting to spook an animal. “Get-“ she was about to repeat her order, but as soon as her mouth had formed the first word, the Wildling had her wrist in his grasp and the blade had been jerked away from his skin. She tried to twist her wrist away from his grip but it was of no use. He had her and her eyes grew wider in realisation.

“Tha’ was very stupid,” the man chuckled darkly down at her, “I’m goin’ t’ have to hurt yer now, girl.”

The next movement that was made by the man seemed inhuman and it took Sansa a beat or two to realise that it had not been made under his body’s own volition. He was pulled up taut, his head nearly snapped backwards. “No,” Jon panted, his voice thick and menacing, his blade glinting at the putrid man’s neck, “ _I’m_ going to have t’ hurt _you_ now.”

The man dropped Sansa’s wrist and his own dagger, both hands flying to the point at his throat, fingers scrabbling against Jon’s steady press. Sansa watched as a single ruby welled up and dribbled down the curve of his Adam’s apple. The man smeared the blood around in his own futile desperation.

“I wasn’ really gonna hurt her! We was jus’ messin’ around!” he gulped and then yelped as Jon yanked roughly, tugging his head back even further with a snarl and a fistful of the man’s hair. “She-she never said she was someone’s woman! I didn’ know! She never said! She-she _wanted_ me to-”

“She wants nothin’ from you,” Jon growled, his lips curling in disgust as he ran the blade through the flesh of the man’s neck as smoothly as a knife through butter. The man’s screwed his eyes shut, a gurgle replacing his breath. He coughed and spluttered all over her, droplets of crimson spraying all over Sansa’s skirts as she tried to scrabble backwards but found herself frozen to the spot.

Jon shoved him backwards into the snow where he choked and grappled helplessly at his own neck. Looming over the dying man, Jon sneered down at him before peering back over his shoulder to take in Sansa’s bewildered expression. He lowered himself onto his haunches to murmur the final words the man would ever hear.

“You best hurry up an’ die, _friend_ ,” he rasped, his scarlet stained dagger waving above the crumpled heap of a man, “my woman doesn’t like the noises yer makin’ so-“

“Please…” the man choked out in a whisper, reaching out with a hand slick with his own blood.

Jon shook his head slowly, menacingly. “Oh, no, no, no. You’ll get no help from me, _friend_ ,” he clicked his tongue and shot Sansa another look over his shoulder before turning back to her attacker. “You see, if it were up t’ me, I’d sit here an’ watch you bleed out for what you-…for what you _were goin’ t’ do_. But yer chokin’ and pleadin’ would upset my woman, so-“

Sansa never heard Jon’s final whispered words, all her ears were met with was a sharp wet scrape sound – half squelch, half crunch. And then the man was silent and still as his blood carved a steaming crimson pool into the snow.

Jon stood but Sansa had not noticed, her eyes stayed trained on the dead man at her feet. He was saying something to her, pulling her up to stand and trying to get her to respond. It sounded like she was blanketed in something unseen, like she were under the surface of a lake and he at the waters-edge. Sansa could not hear a thing but the pulse in her ears, she couldn’t see a thing but the open-eyed, slack-jawed expression of the blood-stained man.

 _“Sansa!”_ Jon hissed, taking her face in his sticky-wet hands. Slowly her gaze met with his, his eyes frantically searching hers. She concentrated on his mouth, puffing panted breath into the cold evening air. “Sansa, are you alright?” She did not nod, nor shake her head, all she did was tremble. He grasped at her shoulders and shook her lightly, “Sansa! Did he…did he hurt you?”

“N-no,” she whispered, still staring at Jon’s parted lips, “he-he was going t-to-“

Faster than she could comprehend, Jon had swooped her up in his arms, pulling her close and dotting her hair with presses of his lips. “Shhh, I know, I know,” he murmured, releasing a jagged breath against her ear as she stared dumbly at the dead man again. “He won’t hurt you. No-one will ever hurt you while I’m around, I promise you that.” He stroked at her hair as he nuzzled behind her ear. “We have to go, Sansa,” he whispered after a while, “we’re staying the night at the camp and I need to hide the body. You need to change into-“

She shoved away from his grasp, seemingly broken from the spell her senses were under. “You _killed_ a man, jon!” she cried, eyes frantically searching him, trying to make sense of what had occurred. “You did it as if it were _nothing_ at all _,_ ” she whispered to herself.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Melissa who commissioned an update in response to this post one tumblr...  
> https://amymel86.tumblr.com/post/173223129584/laying-out-my-shame-in-exchange-for-cash
> 
> I REALLY hope this is ok luv!

Sansa’s breath tore swirling huffs of fog into the frigid evening air between them. Her eyes were wide as they darted from Jon, to the bundle of bloodied skins that housed the rapidly cooling Wildling body, his life seeping into the white around him. A drop of crimson as red as a cherry fell from Jon’s fingers. Sansa watched it paint the canvas of snow at their feet.

“Sansa,” Jon ventured, taking a step forward and lifting his blood-stained hand. Sansa took a step backwards. Jon let his arm fall back down to his side with a visibly shaky breath. “Sansa,” he implored again, “you do know what he was going to do, don’t you?”

Feeling her teeth clench, her gaze drifted to the man in question again. Yes, she knew. He wanted to take his pleasure using her body and then hurt her, possibly kill her.

_“I won’t ‘ave t’ cut tha’ pretty little throat once I’m done if yer quiet and yer hold still.”_

No. He _would have_ killed her, she thought, remembering the stench of the man as he excitedly fumbled with his breeches. Sansa’s gut turned over at the memory. Before she was aware of her body’s movements, Sansa felt her own hand at her throat. If Jon hadn’t got to her in time, there would’ve likely been a string of sticky rubies adorning _her_ neck and not the Wildling’s. With a dry mouth, Sansa gulped down nothing at all, feeling the movement under her hand as it cupped her neck. She nodded, her eyes coming back to Jon. He ventured another step forward, watching her cautiously as if he may spook her and she might flee. She stayed still.

“I had to do it,” Jon said hoarsely. “You know that, don’t you?”

Sansa nodded, to both herself and him, her hand falling away from her throat. He did. He _had to do it_. _Father would’ve had the man’s head_ , she considered, her eyes snapping to Jon once more, only just now realising he was closer than he had been before, having crept up on her while distracted by her own muddled head. _Like a wolf._ “You taunted him,” she accused. Jon’s spine straightened. “As he lay there dying, you mocked him.” _Father wouldn’t have done that._

Jon’s jaw ticked before he spoke. “Aye,” he agreed. “The man wanted t’ have you. He thought he could get between yer legs and then cut yer throat when he’s no use for you anymore,” Jon’s eyes flicked to the heap of dead man on the ground. “I wanted ‘im to suffer through his last moments. He didn’t deserve the breath in ‘is lungs for what he thought he could do t’ you.” He turned to face her again, the grey of his eyes set to steel. “I won’t let anyone do tha’ t’ you.”

Sansa blinked at him, realising for the first time since that blasted dragon brought her to Jon that he has all the potential to be _dangerous_. How had she forgotten? He is a _Wildling_ and she was on _his_ land, _his_ domain and under _his_ care. _And he does care_ , she realised, his proclamation of protection rolling around and around between her ears.

“You won’t let anyone hurt me?”

“Aye,” Jon nodded, “I’ll protect you, I promise.”

There was something about the way he looked at her then; like he could see into the dark corners of her very being. Like he was letting her see his in turn. Averting her eyes from his because it was all _too much_ , Sansa took a shuddering breath. “Why do we need to stay at the Wildling camp?”

“It’s nearly nightfall,” Jon replied, finally tearing his gaze away from her to face the oncoming dusk high in the sky, “and because they got elk roastin’. We didn’t get too much food in our bellies before we set off ‘n’ there’s a lot more trekkin’ to come, Princess. You’ll need tha’ meat to keep them pretty legs o’ yours goin’.”

“But you _killed_ one of them, Jon,” Sansa voiced, feeling a new wave of panic start to swell inside her. “One of their own goes missing when two strangers show up. Won’t they be suspicious?”

Jon shook his head. “This camp is right in the pass.” Sansa blinked at him, a crease forming between her brows at his seemingly cryptic statement. “It’s right in the middle o’ a well-used trek from The Fist down t’ The Wall,” Jon continued once it was clear that Sansa had not understood his meaning. “They’re used to folk comin’ an’ goin’. Hardly anyone stays put at that camp I reckon. Besides,” he turns and walks back towards the dead man, crouching down on his haunches to inspect him closer, “this one smells like he hasn’t made camp in weeks. He’s not too well fed neither. He may ‘ave even been thrown out for tryin’ t’-“ Jon paused and stood. Sansa watched his back as his shoulders moved with the rush of expelled foggy breath. “He may ‘ave tried t’do somethin’ like what he was goin’ t’ do t’ you,” he finished before turning around to face her once more.

Sansa glanced at the man on the ground. “You don’t know that. He could have a family at that camp.”

“Aye. Well he shouldn’t’ve tried t’ do what he was goin’ t’ do,” Jon reasoned, “but I don’t think so. If he had a woman, why’d he try to-“ his words halted as his mouth clamped shut. Sansa watched that tick in his jaw again and the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “He stinks,” Jon continued along another vein, “he hasn’t bathed in weeks. I could smell ‘im before I ‘eard ‘im an’ his fowl words. No,” Jon twisted his torso to look back at the filthy pile of death, laid out on the snow. “He’s an outcast. No one will miss ‘im.”

“Of course he stinks, he’s a Wildling,” Sansa heard herself say before she could think to censor her words. Jon whipped his head back round to stare at her. She felt her cheeks burn under his gaze before a slow grin spread across his face.

“So all the free folk stink now, is that it?”

“Well, I-“ Sansa stuttered. She looked down, focussing on the snow but sensing that Jon was prowling forward. “I wouldn’t know. I only assumed-”

“And what of me? Do you think _I_ stink like tha’ man?”

“No of course not!” Sansa protested, lifting her head to meet his eyes. Jon doesn’t stink. He has an earthy scent, but not like _that man_. Not at all. _I like Jon’s scent_ , Sansa realised suddenly, feeling heat positively radiating from her cheeks now.

“I think you like my stink,” Jon said in a low rumbling voice, stepping even closer, so close that Sansa was forced look down at her own twiddling hands to save herself from the intensity in his eyes.

“Oh,” she breathed, just now noticing the almost artful splatter of scarlet littering her skirts. “Blood.”

The playfulness of Jon’s demeanour evaporated as he straightened where he stood. “You need to change into the skins I got for you. I’ll get rid o’ _him_ ,” Jon jerked his head back briefly at the dead man behind him.

*****

Sansa kept only her stockings, small clothes and her cotton shift, having to tuck the hem and lower half into the breeches Jon had gotten for her. Her sodden, blood stained dress and her useless boots were buried in the snow beneath an elm tree. Her body was now a patchwork of Wildling furs and skins from under her chin, right down to her toes. It was uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable as in causing her body any kind of distress, but rather it felt alien for the heavy swish and flow of skirts about her legs to be replaced by an embrace of thick animal skins between them. Every step felt odd, and the way Jon was looking at her as she emerged from changing her clothes made her feel odd too. “What?” she hissed as his grin spread, his eyes raking over her.

Jon shrugged. “Nothin’ Princess,” he claimed, although judging by the look in his eye, Sansa thought it wasn’t _‘nothin’_ at all. “Make sure t’ wash the blood from yer pretty face,” he advised, before chuckling as Sansa felt herself pale and drop to one knee instantly, grabbing a handful of snow and rubbing it on her cheeks and chin, the once white powder coming away tinged a little pink in her gloves. She scowled at him but that only served to make him laugh more heartily.

The body was gone. Jon had hidden it somewhere and covered the pool of blood. He was currently in the process of messing his own tracks, making them untraceable and confusing for anyone who might happen upon them. Sansa watched as he kicked heaps of snow about, pushing piles of it here and there with the side of his boot before stomping around in perplexing circles. “You said that I was _‘your woman’_ ,” she called out, making him freeze and look up at her where he had previously been focussed on the ground. She’d remembered more of what had happened as she had been peeling off her dress behind a tree, grimacing at the stains on the woollen brocade of her skirts. Her heart stuttered curiously behind her ribs once she’d recalled what he had said, and Sansa found herself unable to ignore it.

“Aye,” Jon replied with a slow cautious nod of his head, “I said that.”

“Why?”

“it’s always safer for a woman if she’s considered taken,” he shrugged.

“But you had already-“ _slit his throat_ , Sansa thought, not able to speak the words aloud, “he was helpless. You’d made it so he couldn’t hurt me. You didn’t need to tell him that.”

“It’s jus’ better if we pretend that it’s so, Princess,” Jon said simply, before his head dropped back to the task at his feet. “It’s getting’ dark, we should be headin’ into the camp and see if we can’t get some o’ tha’ elk.”

******

“Let me do most o’ the talkin’” Jon murmured as they began to near the small group of Wildling huts. Shadows danced around torches dotted ahead of them as they pressed forwards in the dark of the evening.

“Why?”

“Because one fancy word from your pretty lips and they’ll know you don’t belong here.”

Sansa said nothing while their boots continued to tear footprints in the snow, leading them closer to the camp. She didn’t like to admit it, but trudging in breeches turned out to be much easier than in heavy sodden skirts, even if the sensation of the bulky furs was an odd one.

Two men carrying burning torches approached them and Sansa found herself shifting ever so slightly closer to Jon as they slowed their strides. “We’ve come t’ sup and bed down for the night…if we’re welcome, tha’ is?” Jon asked, his footsteps coming to a halt.

“Yer welcome,” the older of the two men commented with a bob of his head, “got anythin’ t’ trade for the meal?”

Jon scrubbed at his beard in thought, and Sansa found herself appreciating the bristly noise of it despite the roll of anticipation stirring in her gut. “Yer already got my goat from earlier,” he mused out loud.

“This your woman?” the younger man interrupted, jerking his flaming torch in Sansa’s direction, the fire spitting embers into the evening air between them, “or does she ‘ave somethin’ worth tradin’ for some food?” he leered. Sansa froze, her mouth dropped open and then snapped shut again at the Wildling’s implication. She could practically feel Jon glaring beside her even though the loaded look would not be aimed at her. “How about it, darlin’?,” the man continued, “I’ll share my food in return for you sharin’ my furs for the night?”

“She’s _my_ woman,” Jon practically growled, the force of his proclamation making both men’s heads snap in his direction and Sansa jump a little beside him. “She stays with me.”

“Shame,” the Wildling grinned, making Jon bristle.

As if she knew. As if she felt the rumble in his chest before it materialised, or how he was about to do something incredibly stupid and lunge for the other man, Sansa reached across and curled a halting hand around Jon’s arm. “I can sing,” she offered in a small voice, before clearing her throat and trying again, “I can sing you a song… in exchange for food and shelter for the night?”

“Aye,” the older of the two Wildling considered, “a song for some meat and a place to lay yer heads. Seems fair,” he smiled. “Come. Sing for your supper.”

Jon turned to look at her before they began to follow the Wildings back to their camp. He offered her a smile and reached for her hand, squeezing her palm reassuringly through both their gloves. “Come on Princess. Let’s get warm.”


End file.
